


melt the witch

by sushinnim



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Horror, Tags May Change, au kinda, darker character personalities, darker themes, slow burn everywhere, they try to be decent people tho so lots of hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushinnim/pseuds/sushinnim
Summary: From the moment she could first remember the world, to the one right after wherein the concept of reality was a loosely based theory – her life had been upside down. With age she could make sense of things, in time she’d come to learn to cope, but the brilliance of childhood kept her tethered to the wrongness of it all. Self-indulgent. Scarecrow!reader / Tim Drake (horror and fluff with reader/batfam also)
Relationships: Tim Drake/Reader
Kudos: 3





	melt the witch

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been a while since I last wrote, I’m excited. Loosely based batverse, more-so AU? Tbh idk fully where I’m going with this, but general mood/themes/characters will be darker? cuz horror. I promise chapters like this will make more sense later? haha. Reader is she/her/they (it's comfortable for me).

Leather gloved hands tucked into a black coat (any discernable feature cloaked in shadow) were working diligently, cutting the rope that restrained rather small wrists a bit _too_ tightly. The child’s hands were gloved as well, though it was more like tactile? gloves, and he was clad in red (also seemingly tactile) and struggling to keep his head up straight. He gave a haggard cough trying to speak, unable to form words properly and slurring badly, his anger at the figure evident and anger at his own weakness present, “Dh… Dhon… tt.. ffhuh… kk…” He was busted up pretty bad, the side of his face swollen, lip almost split and his hair matted down in his own blood (probably).

One arm was hard pressed to move too far up before he’d wince in some amount of pain (it looked bad) and he seemed without any energy to stand without his knees giving in. Freed wrists did their best to reach for the stranger, and his need to try and push away the helping hands was enough to want to knock him out completely. The figure in black resisted, biting their lip instead at the weak attempts to fight back, it’s not like the kid could comprehend very well at the moment anyway.

A moment of hesitation brought one of the leather gloved hands to a back pocket behind them with an idea, taking out a small bottle of pills and popped it open. To the boy, a small, white, chalky pill was pressed to his lips and his struggling became a bit stronger, more controlled, but the amount of effort was visible as his chest heaved.

“ ** _Open_** ,” came the figures quiet bark, bit out harshly at being refused their gesture. Squeezing his cheeks a bit too hard, he eventually was unable to keep his jaw clenched and the pill was slipped in before his mouth was clamped shut completely. Hands held the bottom of his jaw and the back of his head firmly, unconcerned with the thrashing. “Mmnfh!,” the kid grunted before he had to slow, light headed from lack of air as his breathing hit hyperventilation mode. He had to _calm down_ , calm his breathing, he knew that, he _knew_ , but…

_He’d swallowed the pill._

The horror he felt was contrasted to the amusement the figure before him was feeling, before continuing to free the child of his bindings (they were crudely tied, but he could hardly struggle, hands numb from the tight rope). Scooping the semi-limp child up in their arms once freed, the black-clothed figure headed for the doorway of the small, cramped room. It was empty, it was crumbling, it was also three stories below ground and riddled with promises of pain (were there more floors below? yuuuup), at any misstep on unstable footing.

Looking further down the corridor, opposite the way they came in, there was a staircase leading further down. Gruff grunting, a slither that knocked aside loose rubble, the sound of water catching something heavy with repetitive _plops_. The only noise in the area came from the hole, so deep it seemed at that moment, so filled with a black ink that it swelled up to paint the entrance. _Something was down there_. The figure holding the child readjusted slightly, gripping a bit tighter from the involuntary shudder that ran through their body at the hole. The boy stopped struggling.

If he could take in anything at all, it was that the person currently “saving” him was clothed all in black, but in the darkness he couldn’t even make out the design of the coat. He _thought_ he could see a pair of eyes shine lightly under the hood, but it could have been a trick of his currently concussed brain. Around them, the darkness was so swallowing that he could barely register the walls (the one holding him had to be geared up well, he imagined, but the fact that he thought he’d seen a pair of bare eyes nagged at him momentarily). His shallow breathing couldn’t even form a cloud of moisture in the cold, _he_ _was_ _freezing_ , and almost warily, he soaked in any heat from the warm layers of thick material on the stranger.

There seemed to be a calculated path the stranger took as they retraced their steps to the stairs that led up where they came in from, the opposite side to the set that led down. There was a reassurance once they’d made it to the next floor, out of sight of the hole in the ground, though an anxiousness nestled into the pit of their stomachs. As quietly as they could, knowing what lay one floor down, they crept their way to the other side of the hall towards the next set of stairs. The boy could almost _feel_ the trembling from below through the body he was held to, he swallowed thickly, and it was slow and painful, and he _wanted water_.

Nothing happened, nothing bad came after them, nothing popped through the crumbling concrete as a mad dash up the stairs took them to the next floor. One more set of stairs and they’d be on the surface level, the boy’s face turned stiffly as he kept as best a focus as he could on where he was being taken. It couldn’t be worse than here with the _thing_ that’d dragged him into the river, into the sewers, and into the depths under some condemned building about to crush in on him. His time down here had brought back memories of growing up, of things he’d rather not have to remember, of lonely and frightening things. He was glad to be getting out of there, he’d worry about what to do afterwards, after he was out of the _dark_.

The halls were dead quiet aside what they made in their run, no one else was around but them and the _thing down there_ and the shadows dancing in the dark around them. Ahead he could see the exit _andpleaserunfaster_ and oh the evening air of Gotham never seemed more appealing as it hit him full force when they emerged.

He couldn’t breathe in that place, so far underground.

Then he wasn’t certain what happened, one moment they were coming out of a suffocating hole and the next they were in direct light of the sun, barely touching the tops of buildings as it descended. The stillness that held them in the dark was suddenly catching up with him as the one he was with reacted quickly. He was laid back against cold concrete, the one who helped him giving him one more look over before standing up, turning and abandoning him there. It was fluid, it was quick, and the kid still couldn’t see any defining features, though he did note how common the all black ensemble was. They looked like someone from a skate-park, or the guys who’d smoke under bleachers, “ _just another asshole_ ,” he figured. He hadn’t gotten to inspect anything under their hood, though he noted the lower half of their face had been covered by, not surprisingly, black cloth.

Then they were gone.

It wasn’t long before he was able to pull himself up, straining terribly, eyes adjusting to the blanketed darkness to see that he indeed had been placed on top of a building. It was most likely for ease of being found (the person he had been with _knew_ ), the locator on his chest crushed under the R, having been torn off by the _thing_ that took off with him (he wasn't even going to guess where his utility gear and capped cape were taken).

And that is where he indeed was found, a day and a half after he was lost, bruised and a bit broken, covered in blood and grime and somewhat dazed.


End file.
